


It Will Involve A Mirror

by LostCybertronian



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, anD I AM OBSESSED, i've started listening to welcome to night vale, my first cecilos fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:34:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22993279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostCybertronian/pseuds/LostCybertronian
Summary: Cecil is planning on surprising Carlos with a romantic dinner when he's caught unawares by an uncovered mirror.
Relationships: Cecilos
Comments: 1
Kudos: 92





	It Will Involve A Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> I have started listening to Night Vale. Obsessed.

Cecil didn’t often bother cooking when he was by himself; why put in so much work when Big Rico’s or Jerry’s Tacos worked just as well? Tonight, however, he put in the effort, laying out his nicest plates and silverware and even lighting a few candles. The meal itself would be completely free of wheat and wheat by-products, and would most likely contain imaginary cornflakes.  
Stepping back to survey his work, Cecil clapped his hands together delightedly. Carlos would be so surprised-- and so happy!-- to find that he’d pre-recorded his show for that night and left work early to set up a romantic dinner.  
Cecil turned to check the oven, but paused when there was a flickering movement out of the corner of his eye.  
He spun, catching the glint of mirrored glass. The flickering movement was everywhere now, sending his vision into swimming curlicues and him stumbling over the hallway carpet as he scrambled toward the mirror, to cover it up before whatever was going to get him did so.  
_Someone’s going to kill you one day, Cecil, and it will involve a mirror._ His mother’s voice echoed in his ears.  
_Mark._  
_My._  
_Words._  
Invisible hands seized his throat from behind, cutting off his air supply. Cecil choked. Fought. Struggled. Grabbed at the invisible hands. But you can’t grab at what doesn’t exist; his vision blurred, shadows crawling at the fringes.  
Then, he blacked out.  
\---  
The sun was setting by the time he left the lab, having cleaned up the various chemical spills and anomalies, locked the doors, and climbed into his car. Cecil’s caramel voice drifted through the speakers when he started the vehicle, and Carlos smiled as he reached to turn the volume up.  
“-ware of the child who stands outside your window and stares at you, Night Vale. It is unknown as to why he is doing this, but Old Woman Josie called and she thinks he’s looking for evidence of tax fraud.” There was the rustling of papers against a desk, and Carlos knew that Cecil was making that face he made when he wasn’t sure he was seeing things right. “Tax fraud? There are no taxes in Night Vale- we exist at the versatile whims of the Sheriff’s Secret Police, and whether they’d rather have a house or someone’s left pinky finger that day.”  
Carlos pulled into the parking lot of their apartment building just as Cecil went to the weather, a jazzier song than usual filling the car with low saxophone notes.  
His husband probably wouldn’t return for a while; he often worked late, though Carlos knew he made an effort to make it home.  
He found himself proven very, very wrong as he opened the door-- unlocked-- to find first a table, laden with nice plates and silverware, and second Cecil.  
Cecil, lying unconscious on the floor, unmoving, beneath the hallway mirror.  
“Cece!” Carlos dropped his bag to the floor, rushing to him, sinking to his knees and snatching up Cecil’s wrist to take his pulse.  
There was none. And there was no rise and fall of his chest. No breath coming from his slightly parted lips.  
Thankful, for once, for the mandatory 6-hour CPR course, Carlos began compressions, tears running freely down his face.  
It seemed like forever-- but was probably only a minute or so-- before Cecil bolted upright, eyes wide, mouth gaping in a silent cry.  
“Cecil!” Carlos threw his arms around him, but Cecil jerked back from his embrace. “Cover the mirror,” he stammered, voice raspy and mostly gone. “Cov-cover the mirror.”  
“Okay. Okay.” Carlos pulled the dusty blanket from the floor, standing on his tiptoes to once more tuck it back into its designated place over the mirror. Then, he looked back to Cecil, who looked as if he couldn’t tear his eyes from the now-covered mirror.  
“What happened?” He asked quietly, but Cecil was only shaking his head furiously, vigorously, in a way that made it clear that he would not be talking about it anytime soon.  
Which was fine. Carlos could deal with that. He knelt again, gathering Cecil into his arms. “You don’t have to talk about it. I’m just glad you’re okay.”  
“I pre-recorded my show,” Cecil muttered weakly, offering him a shaky smile. “I was making you dinner.”  
“And I appreciate it.” Carlos kissed him. “But it’s definitely burned now. Let’s order takeout.”  
“Okay.”


End file.
